This is a very heartbreaking and long tale of woe and hardship. It all started back in 1978, when I was born.
Fast forward 24 (and a bit) years.
This part of the tale is much more light hearted, occasionally sexy and often bizarre but go with it, it’s got clones and shit in it. Everyone likes clones!
INT – HOUSE – NIGHT
The year is 2003, the month is July, the date is the 8th.
This was the night I first brought my clone into my day to day life. Since 2001 I had wanted to take some daft photographs of me and another version of me. Everyone I knew recommended getting a copy of Photodhop (that’s right “Photodhop”! Ain’t no way anyone is going to make me say “Photoshop”…goddamit!) or something similar but I found that to cost prohibitive.
So, using my vast knowledge of genetics and nuclear fission I, using a few stray hairs and some dead skin from a blister I burst on the ball of my left foot, created my second clone (best not to dwell on the first effort *shudder*).
I had safely kept my clone locked away within the cupboard under the stairs in my house, letting it gestate and develop until, 3 hours later, we were ready to go.
I sat him on the couch and put a magazine in his hands. He couldn’t read just yet but all it took was for me to manually move his still moist and sticky eyeballs into place and he looked the part. Actually, and I’ll be honest here, I was a bit jealous (and turned on) that he looked slightly more attractive than me.
I sat down next to him improvising with a mug and hey presto – photo taken without all that laborious photoshopping. Take that digital creatives – all you need is a clone not some too-expensive software.
So, that’s the beginning, from here the storey dies a death while my clone scrapes by on my meagre offerings to it for 2 years until next I require a doppleganger….
To be continued in “The Clone Saga – Beyond Thunderdome.